Wagner's Music is Better Than it Sounds
by WickedRocksSoMuch
Summary: A story of infinite jest: add utter nonsense and a liberal dose of musical humour. Sprinkle on a dash of Destiel for flavour. Serve and enjoy.
1. Since Brevity

Author's Note: For my sister who doesn't ship it, but helped me right this anyway. Thanks, man.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a trumpet must be in want of an ego the size of an elephant. This truth was fully realized in Dean Winchester, lead trumpet in the orchestra of Laurence High School. The 17 year old was famous for his ability to hit a high C, worshipped for his vibrato, and mildly tolerated for his inability to pay attention to the conductor. It was hardly his fault of course, conductors should never be paid any mind, the poor dears might think they actually know what they're doing. No, Dean did not pay attention to the conductor, or anyone else, for that matter. Dean Winchester was one of those people that the rest of the orchestra refers to as having a, 'trumpet ego,' the origin of which will be explained for the musically illiterate.

It is told that many years ago, back when cellos had no end-pens and drummers were considered musicians, at that time was the trumpet born. A young boy was playing in the street when suddenly a herd of rhinos stampeded through the town, landed on the local balloon factory (popping all the balloons), which was then multiplied by the foghorn factory next door. The little boy was just far enough away to escape going deaf, (everyone in a 5 mile radius was now hearing impaired), the boy, having heard this, thought to himself, 'I could make an instrument from that,' and thus was the trumpet born. The ego was developed later. It was discovered that once a lead trumpet started playing, everyone else could be playing quadruple forte and they might as well be playing on the kazoo for all the good it did them. That does a certain something to a person's ego, when they're the only sound that can be heard. Much like the Grinch, their egos grew three times larger.

Back to Dean. Dean had a problem. That problem's name was Castiel Novak. Cas was the double bass player. Quiet, he kept mostly to himself. Dean had yet to realize the problem, of course, but it was still there.

They had met in the hallway on the first day of that year. Dean knew he was a musician right away. Perhaps it was the tortured air that hung about him like a cloak, expressing the inability to ever compose that perfect piece which sums up your existence. Perhaps it was the subconscious connection that all musicians seem to share, binding them together. Or it might be the giant case he was carrying in front of him.

They shared an intense gaze that caused fangirls the world over to faint without knowing why.

Cas didn't know what to make of Dean Winchester. On one hand, he was an unquestionably narcissistic jerk with an ego big enough to squish New York. On the other hand, he was undeniably attractive...

Stay on track.

Ahem,

Dean wasn't the only Winchester in band, not by a long shot. His darling younger brother, Sam, was the lead flautist. A highly esteemed, if emasculated role. Sam was a kind, understanding boy, the kind who writes poetry and sings Phantom of the Opera. Needless to say, he was extremely popular with girls. Guys too, as it turned out. In fact he was so popular he-

The author was cut off at this point. Dean had decided that Sam had been talked about for long enough and that the spot light should be put back on him, as it should be. The author, now vaguely annoyed, returned to the hallway scene.

Finally managing to drag their gazes away from one another, Cas and Dean walked away in opposite directions. Dean suavely sashayed down the hallway before falling flat on his face after tripping on a conveniently placed banana that was most definitely put there by the author. He pulled himself up and dusted off his plaid shirt. While Dean was busy regaining the remainder of his dignity, the mysterious past of the plaid shirt would be explained for humanity for the first time in the history of useless information.

It started many years ago with a magical toothbrush and its pet flounder. Don't ask. They set forth on the search for the mythical cross-hatching. After a harrowing journey over hill and dale, through terrifying caves and worst of all, a Justin Bieber concert they finally found the lake of Truth and brought forth the mythical pattern...come on guys, it's plaid. Its just sort of there...

Anyways.

While the pointless story you just read was being told Cas had managed to run into a set of lockers, get up, and then run into the same set of lockers. Dean Winchester, even on the floor sporting a sizable bump on his head, had that affect on people.

After both boys had recovered they set out in their respective directions, both of them thinking how idiotically they had just acted.

**Five hours later.**

"Balthazar, why do you do that eyebrow thing whenever you sing," this came from the band director, Chuck. It was addressed to the lead vocalist and older brother of Castiel. The response was, of course, both eloquent and respectful-ish.

"I'm emoting."

Being the only tenor who could read music had its benefits apparently. Chuck sighed and gestured for Dean to proceed with the trumpet solo. Dean grinned at the other trumpets and proceeded to play the solo beautifully. It was, however, accompanied by the most absurd eyebrow aerobics ever seen. When Chuck stopped the music and glared at him, Dean claimed to be, 'emoting,'

Balthazar shot a spitball at Dean's head.

Chuck shook his head and counted out a slower tempo. The band struck up.

Then Chuck made the mother of all mistakes.

The grandmother of all mistakes.

The third uncle two times removed that you really only see at Christmas and birthdays and is dating your friends' mom of all mistakes.

He motioned for the trombones to play louder.

For those of you not musically inclined (though if you are, I don't know why you're reading this, seriously. All the references _whoosh_ over your head…).

Ahem.

The trombone dates back almost as long as the trumpet. They are known for their ability to play the MOST OUTRAGEOUSLY LOUD NOISE MANKIND HAS EVER HAD TO ENDURE AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CAN'T YOU READ DYNAMICS.

Ahem.

Trombones are loud, and, as every halfway decent band director knows, to be completely ignored at all times. Attention just encourages them.

Once everyone had dragged himself or herself from the thirty-foot crater that had been created by the shock waves they surveyed the damage.

Unfortunately, the music room was pretty much leveled.

Fortunately, every viola had been destroyed.

In the wreckage, amidst utter destruction, with no music and only a battered trumpet, Dean began to play 'In The Mood'. In The Mood was a well-known jazz piece. Every jazz player in existence can play the darn thing backwards and forwards. Sam then hit Dean on the back of the head with what was left of one of the violas. Whether or not it was to punish his brother or destroy what remained of the instrument is something we may never know.

Five minutes later the music room was back in one piece thanks to magic of books. In order to let Chuck know what they thought of his conducting skills, the band made him a card.

The front read:

What do call a group of conductor's neck deep in concrete?

The inside read:

Not enough concrete.

Dean and Cas worked together to make the card. It was all very romantic and, much to the distress of many fangirls, Dean failed to notice how romantic it was. For now.

Then the sound of bagpipes came from the music room.

Duh duh DUH!


	2. Is The Soul

Author's Note: I suppose this means I'll have to be serious now...I kid of course.

There are few things more annoying in this world than a trumpet section. The Lawrence High orchestra was no exception. The leader, Dean, was the poster child for egos. This guy made Narcissus look like Seymour Krelborn. There were two seconds, Jo Harvelle and Gabriel Novak. As mentioned in an earlier chapter, Sam Winchester was popular with pretty much every gender. He and Gabriel had been going out for about six months by that point. They were the most disgustingly, overtly, embarrassingly adorable couple ever to grace the halls of a high school. Seriously, they had a fan club. The fans were...creepy...and the fanfiction...

Ahem.

Trumpet sections are renowned for their inability to pay attention to anyone and their absurd dislike of any sort of dynamic. This one was no exception.

And they were having a good day.

Chuck had been trying to teach a lesson that day. He had been explaining the benefits of exercising one's chin. Namely, putting one's chin to one's chest to create a double chin and then 'releasing' said double chin. Naturally, this was met by shouts of 'RELEASE THE DOUBLE CHIN' in a voice usually reserved for the re-animation of a corpse or the battle cry of a pigeon. The loudest was, of course, Dean. Trumpets, in addition to stunning volume on their instruments, generally have immense volume when speaking.

Chuck decided to crawl under a desk and would not come out till the flute sectional.

Having lost their conductor, Sam took charge and ordered the orchestra to pull out their copies of 'Royal Garden Blues'. This piece featured an absolutely stunning trumpet part involving the use (and abuse) of mutes.

Now, a mute on any brass instrument can be a tricky thing. They seldom, if ever, sound good. They are a terrible pain to play with and are often quite simply forgotten. However, this particular section of trumpets was well known for their affinity with plunger mutes. So when the dreaded section took place they smoothly played through with little to no bloodshed.

That is something called anti-climatic. My apologies.

So they moved onto the Nutcracker. A popular Christmas piece: the less well-known Ellington version was known to have a section of trombone solo. This solo is characterized by an exceptionally loud _yah yah_ from the lead trombone.

Trombones aren't known for their silence.

The blast zone radiated through the brass and well past the percussion section. Sam called for order but found that those in immediate vicinity were now quite deaf and so he opted to motion instead for silence. Meeting with zero success, he looked to Chuck for assistance. Dear old Chuck appeared to have curled into the fetal position beneath the table and made no motion to stand.

"Pack up then, we won't be playing today," Sam said tiredly. Grinning, Gabriel and Dean began to play a funeral dirge before running from Sam's musical score thrown at their heads.

"Remember the concert next week," Sam yelled at the retreating backs of the beleaguered musicians (if you can call them that). He resignedly put his flute into his case; hardly noticing that one of the band members remained.

Cas fidgeted awkwardly with his backpack as he waited for Sam to turn around. Sam did so and quirked an eyebrow in question.

"I am unsure as to the social conventions involved, but I wished to ask a question of you and was wondering how you might receive it,"  
Cas said bluntly. Sam registered the question-statement-thing and then motioned for Cas to continue.

"I hate to burden you on such a slight acquaintance, but I believe I may have what is known as a 'crush' on your brother, Dean. Having no previous experience in this I elected to ask Gabriel. He provided me with no helpful advice and used terms not suitable to be repeated in polite society," Cas paused for breath. Sam wondered what Gabriel might've said but then realized that he decidedly did not want to know.

"Do you see my dilemma?"

As Cas looked expectantly at Sam for an answer a faint voice drifted from under the table saying thusly (or to the same effect):

"Your dilemma is that you have a crush on Dean Winchester."

This voice (known sometimes as Chuck) was silenced by a kick to the stomach from the younger Winchester. Sam smiled winningly at Cas and decided that he would most definitely help the bassist, whatever the cost.

But he would need help.


	3. Of Wit

Author's Note: Profuse apologies to the trumpet players I have probably offended; I bass (ha) this solely off of my experiences with trumpet players and their questionable dynamic choices. Warning: this chapter does not contain much in the way of musical humour. The author apologizes.

MAKE DEAN FALL IN LOVE WITH CAS.  
A plan by Sam Winchester and Gabriel Novak.

Step One: Force subjects One and Two into increasingly smaller spaces.

Dean glanced across the empty classroom at the bewildered face of the lead bassist. He sincerely doubted Sam's story, but he remained in the room nonetheless.  
_  
DEAN. There is a gas leak RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE STANDING. You and Cas HAVE TO GET INTO THIS CLASSROOM NOW FOR THE SAKE OF YOUR VERY LIVES._

Cas was wondering how on Earth this was supposed to further his pursuit of Dean. His eyes darted confusedly around the room for some answer before finally settling on Dean. He stared at him, transfixed, for some minutes.

Dean saw him staring.

Cas saw Dean see him staring.

Dean saw Cas see him see him staring.

Cas saw him see him see him see him sea hymn say ham salmon.

…whatever.

Dean sauntered towards hymn. Ham. HIM.

Dean stared meaningfully into Cas's eyes. He realized that was a bit gay and promptly gave him a manly punch on the shoulder. Turning around he shook himself mentally. He told himself to get a grip, to stop thinking about Cas and his beautiful blue eyes, eyes like the sky on a summers day that shone like-

Dean snapped out his reverie, discovering that somehow he had turned around and was inches from Cas's face. He ran out of the room, Sam's gas leak be damned.

From their hiding spot at the back of the room, Sam heaved a sigh and marked Step One as incomplete while Gabriel grinned mischievously.

Step Two: Hit on subject Two to make subject One jealous.

"Like we talked about, right gentlemen?"

Sam was giving a pep talk to Garth and Ash. The unfortunate pair had been roped into the conspiracy and were currently being asked to flirt with Cas. Not an overly difficult job (he was quite attractive), but they faced the very real possibility of the Wrath of Dean Winchester tm.

Ash coughed nervously and attempted to strut over to Cas. He failed miserably and ended up resembling something closer to a teenaged giraffe with balance issues. Garth followed, Mr. Fizzles already on his hand.

Ash, Garth and Mr. Fizzles approached the table. It should perhaps be explained who (or what) Mr. Fizzles is. Garth had long since discovered that people found it easier to talk to something that wasn't a person. A chance encounter with a sock had led him to the perfect outlet of this. The boy and his puppet had since been inseparable.

Returning to the scene, Cas had looked up dazedly from his book and was studying his two friends. Dean had disrupted his blatant staring (at Cas) to glare balefully at the interlopers. Sam tried desperately not to grin his face off and Gabriel rolled his eyes at the antics of his boyfriend. Had Gabriel had his way, they would've locked Dean and Cas in a closet until they came out, as it were.

"Hey, Cas. Did it, uh, hurt when you fell from heaven?"

Ash winced internally at what he knew was a terribly pickup line. That was only the first in a string of lines too numerous and blatantly bad to mention. Dean's face grew darker and darker, reaching far past vermillion and well into scarlet.

When the deluge had ended Cas blinked once or twice. Mr. Fizzles opened his mouth to come forth with another come on and Dean decided he had had enough. He grabbed the two smaller boys by the collar and yanked them away from Cas.

Sam nearly fainted.

Cas blinked again.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

Dean turned around awkwardly and began to fumble for an excuse:

"Well they were hitting on you, I couldn't rightly have them make fun of you or anything. It had nothing to do with...right, I'll just go," he finished, muttering something about puppets and paper shredders. Cas glanced back at Ash and Garth. The two appeared ready to fall over. Then they did just that.

Sam was almost ready to go with Gabriel's plan.

Step One Part Two:  
PUT THEM IN THE CLOSET UNTIL DEAN IS READY TO COME OUT.

"Ah, I have found the light. Dean, did Sam mention when he would be returning?"

"No,"

Dean's response was shortened somewhat by his proximity to Cas. The two were now locked in what appeared by all accounts to be a broom closet in the school basement. Chuck had sent them to find some better mutes and they had 'accidentally' been shoved in by their brothers. Dean, meanwhile, was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on things like facts and breathing. Dean's mind tried desperately to tell him that he was not, in fact, gay.

It failed.

After two hours, Sam and Gabriel decided that Cas and Dean had been given enough time. Following the opening of the closet door Sam fainted and Gabriel fell against the wall shaking with barely concealed laughter.

"So are you *snort* dating, or were you attacked by a *giggle* wild puma?" he guffawed wiping tears from his eyes. Cas and Dean stood within looking disheveled. Cas's face was currently a brilliant red and Dean looked properly contrite.

Gabriel turned away, giggling, and slung the still limp Sam over his shoulder. He then almost collapsed because the other student was twice his height and weight. He elected to drag him back up to the music room.

Chuck had been doing quite well during this particular class. Dean was missing and so was Gabriel. There was almost something like order: tempos were almost met; notes almost in tune and the band had nearly finished the piece when a newly recovered Sam charged into the room, Gabriel in tow. Chuck saw this and the sudden deterioration of the class as his cue to leave. He promptly slid under his table.

It should be known that the entirety of the band had long ago placed bets upon the exact manner of Dean and Cas's relationship beginning. They crowded around Sam and Gabriel for details. When Sam had finished with the story they quieted down and agreed to play a piece. Then the two parties so asked after entered. The opening bars of 'Here Comes the Bride' struck up from the band.

"Class," a quavering voice echoed from beneath the table, "the concert is tomorrow," it continued, "would you mind if we practiced?"

Author's Note: Not a lot of music jokes, I know. Just wait; next chapter is the mother of all music jokes.


	4. I Shall Be Brief

Author's Note: This is it. The last chapter. The mother of all music jokes.

Dean reluctantly tightened his tie. He had an aversion to the dratted thing, but Chuck's eye had begun to twitch when he mentioned wearing jeans instead. After ten more minutes of grooming, Sam and Dean set out in the Impala for the school. Upon arriving they discovered that the others had begun tuning. It was _catastrophic_. The violas tried desperately to tune their untunable instrument. The saxes, already in tune, were playing overtop of everyone else's efforts. The piano was out of tune to begin with and others were using it to tune themselves. Chuck appeared to be wearing earplugs and was smiling happily. After a while the cacophony died down and the students (all tuned either flat or sharp) looked expectantly at Chuck.

Chuck had given up all hope of a good concert and had elected to let them do whatever they liked. He only hoped that Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, which they were playing last, would go well. The three bassists, Cas, a caustic girl named Pamela and Garth were not overly thrilled about that one. As there was a long break for basses nearing the end they were told to put down their basses and return later.

Cas caught Dean's eye from across the school gym and blushed. Jo and Gabriel wolf whistled and were promptly met with the Wrath of Dean Winchester tm. Sam was on a cloud.

Parents began to arrive.

Chuck removed his ear plugs and took out the scores.

"Are we playing the piece with the really long trill on the piano at the beginning?"

The question came from Zachariah in the viola section. Not a bright boy (they seldom are) he had the astonishing ability to not even play and _still_ be out of tune.

"Which is that?" Chuck asked.

"You know..." he began to hum the first few bars of Fur Elise. It should be pointed out again that violists are not particularly popular in orchestral circles. Chuck shook his head. Ash rolled his eyes from his position with the alto clarinets.

The concert went well. The audience loved it. It was an exquisite demonstration of musical genius conducted with poise and aplomb.

These are the words I long to type. To say that nothing went wrong and the band was wonderful.

It's not too late to stop reading.

Seriously.

Just leave the site.

Go on Tumblr or something.

You asked for it.

The concert was horrific. Concert pitched instruments were decidedly Bb pitched. Bb instruments became Eb and so on. Bows snapped.

It.

Was.

Bad.

Then came Beethoven's Ninth.

The beginning went well. Chuck even felt cautiously optimistic. When the basses left he could almost have been called happy.

The trio made their way backstage. Pamela proposed drinking. Cas and Garth, who had neither had alcohol before, saw no reason why not. Pamela pulled a stash of alcohol from seemingly nowhere and they settled down. Garth fainted within a minute. Cas was well through his third bottle before he 'began to feel something'. He stood to return and suddenly the alcohol hit him. He staggered. He and a stagehand carried Garth and Pamela (who had since fainted) out onto the stage. He was unworried about being late because Pamela had assured him she had a plan. Her plan became apparent when Chuck came into view. She had evidently tied the last few pages of the score to make it more difficult to conduct. Chuck was trying desperately to untie them. Cas smiled faintly at Dean and then promptly slipped and slid straight into the conductors stand. Chuck was furious. After all,

It was the bottom of the Ninth.

The basses were loaded.

The score was tied.

Two men were out.

And then one slid home.


End file.
